


Kick Start

by Phnx



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phnx/pseuds/Phnx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saeki’s in a slump, Waya’s in a frenzy, and Shindou has a running bet with Touya.  Slash.  Saeki/Ashiwara, Waya/Isumi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introducing the Failures

‘ _This is no time to be scared. Think of the effect this new wave of go will have on the go world! We’re witnessing the birth of a whole new style of playing, standing on the bridge between the go of old and the go of the future…’_

Ha. Except that was the _last_ place Saeki wanted to be—an outsider to the whole affair, stuck between the amazing go players rising behind him and the experienced—and immovable—players in front. He was going nowhere, and all he could do was watch as the go world reached new heights and left him behind…

Morishita’s study sessions weren’t exactly helping, either.

“This is a terrible time to hit a slump, Saeki- _kun_. The title matches are coming up, and I hear that Ashiwara from Touya’s study group is just a few games away from being raised to 5- _dan_.”

Ashiwara. Oh yeah.

…Not even going there.

Waya glanced up from the go board and asked, “Morishita- _sensei_... since the former Meijin isn’t a pro anymore, don’t you think this rivalry is a bit... outdated?”

Bless Waya. The question’s purpose—to get Morishita to tone down a bit—would be unfulfilled, of course, but at least now Morishita’s ire wouldn’t be directed wholly at Saeki. Not that Morishita’s tirade against Waya would last long. Waya had won _his_ game.

Saeki took his time packing up when the study session ended, hoping to avoid conversation while leaving the Go Institute—or, at least, the sort of conversation involving questions on whether his go problems were girl-related or parent-related, as these were considered to be the two most prevalent reasons for go slumps among the younger players. His plan failed, however; when he entered the shoe room, he found that Shindou was waiting for him.

He hesitated slightly. He and Shindou had never been close—they talked when they ran into each other in the Go Institute on game days, but even those conversations had the awkward colouring of two people who had nothing to say to one another. Besides, Shindou was at the top of Saeki’s Newcomers Who Terrify Me list.

He gave Shindou a quick grin, hoping the other boy would see he wasn’t in the talking mood. For a total idiot, Shindou could be pretty observant that way.

“Hey Saeki- _san_ —” Shindou began, his big eyes solemn. 

…Or not. Shit.

“It’s not just a slump, is it?”

“No, I’m not having girl problems, and my parents are—“

“I’m not talking about that. You act as though you’ve lost the will to play. As though you don’t care.”

…Huh?

“Listen, Shindou,” said Saeki, his eyes narrowing. “I. Love. Go. Go is my life. I sure as hell haven’t lost the will to play.”

“I’m not making accusations or anything. Remember that the same thing happened to me.”

Saeki paused, remembering the long string of forfeits—and Shindou’s ambiguous explanations as to the reasons. “This isn’t like that. I’m still… I mean, I’m still playing. I’m haven’t quit like you did.”

“Bullshit. I’m sure your reasons are nothing like mine were—ha, that’d be pretty weird—but even though you’re dumping stones on a board, you’re not _playing_. There’s no brain power going into your moves. Otherwise, how do you explain your game today? A beginner would have been horrified by some of your moves!”

Saeki flushed, but he couldn’t really refute Shindou’s words. Not honestly. “I feel as though I’ve forgotten how to think. Or as though I’m still thinking the same way I always have, but everyone else is thinking faster, with more complex ideas. I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, realizing how stupid he was sounding to someone who wasn’t even really his friend.

“So… you’re scared?”

Saeki flinched, but then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Shindou snorted. “I think you do. Tell me.”

Now that’s just nosy. “Why?”

Shindou grinned abruptly, and the room seemed to brighten a few shades in response. “Because Touya Akira is _my_ rival, and there’s no way I’m going to let anyone in _my_ study group get behind their equivalents in _his_.”

“…Equivalents? Excuse me?”

“You know; the people who’re on the same level and stuff. Besides, I sort of bet Touya ten lunches that you’d beat Ashiwara when you two play each other in the title matches, and if he wins, I won’t get ramen for two weeks _and_ I'll have to pay.”

Not Ashiwara again. “...You bet in lunches? Anyway, that _definitely_ isn’t my problem.”

“It will be when you have to deal with my broke and ramen-deprived self for two weeks. Tell me.”

“Shindou… listen, I really don’t want to talk about this right now…”

“No problem!”

Saeki blinked, surprised. What that really all it took? Why didn’t he just say that at the beginning of this conversation?

“See you later, Saeki- _san_. Try to start thinking again, please.”

And he was gone.

\--

_Waya tottered into his apartment_ , managing to stay upright only long enough to trip over his phone cord and come crashing down face-first onto his floor. A spectacular mid-dive twist spared his nose but cracked his head, and now his feet were effectively tangled up in the phone cord.

Shit. Every fucking night. He should probably take this as a divine hint that phone cords left trailing about the room did obligatory double duty as trip wires, but he was too tired to even think of cleaning it up until tomorrow. All these study sessions were wearing him out; how did everyone else manage? Shindou bounced around the city at any given time of day, his passion for go electrifying his movements and thoughts until he could barely restrain his excess energy. Touya, for all his outward composure, was the same, using go like caffeine or speed or something. Of course, maybe those two weren’t the best examples, given their penchant for complete insanity, but no one else seemed to be having much difficulty. Morishita bellowed the same as normal, Shirakawa was still smiling and alert, Saeki seemed more frustrated than tired, Ochi probably hadn’t looked up from a go board in weeks except to complete his ritual tapping after losing a game, and Isumi... Isumi was just as focused, just as polite, just as kind as ever.

Or at least, that’s how he appeared from a distance. Even their old tradition of hanging out together at go salons had stopped almost altogether in the face of the upcoming title matches. Shit, shit, shit. Waya couldn’t help but wonder if the study overload was really all it was; Isumi had said that he understood, that they were still friends, but...

But Waya had still confessed to feelings of Very Much Not Friendship toward Isumi, and he’d heard that could make things awkward. Isumi hadn’t seemed uncomfortable then, but what if he’d changed his mind about still being friends? Or what if he really _had_ been freaked out, but had lied just to make Waya feel better? That didn’t really fit Isumi’s personality, but Waya didn’t actually know _that_ much about Isumi outside of go.

Shit, shit, shit.

The phone rang then, once, twice, three times, and Waya stared at it blankly before attempting to get up to grab it and falling over his entangled feet.

Oh yeah.

He tugged the wires off his feet and managed to snatch the phone, banging his head again as he did so and cursing the whole time.

“...Waya- _kun_?” asked a voice on the other line.

“Huh? Yeah? What? Who’s this?”

“...Fuku. Are you alright?”

“Er... Ow! Shit! Yeah. What’s up?”

“Are we still up for tutoring tomorrow? I know you’re busy, but the pro test is—” Fukui’s voice sounded small and nervous, a far cry from his normal relaxed tone.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit—

“Yeah, I know. How’d the prelims go, by the way?” Waya asked, hurriedly trying to scribble down a note to himself. How could he have forgotten? Once his _life_ had revolved around the pro test!

“Er, I skipped them. I mean, they were waived. I mean, I—”

“Cool! You were one of the top three in the A group? Awesome! How didn’t I hear about that?”

“Er, you’ve been busy. Nase was in the top three, too.”

_Shit_. These people were his friends! What had happened to him?

“Wow... Hey, Fuku, I _promise_ I’ll be there tomorrow, but I may not be at my best. I’ve been really tired lately, and... the title matches...”

Fukui laughed, and some of the awful tension seemed to slide out of the conversation. “Don’t worry! I need whatever pointers you can give to me. So... your place at ten?”

Waya couldn’t help but grin. “Not taking any chances, are you?”

“It’s not that! I know you’ll show up if you say you will. It’s just easier if we’re in your apartment, since you live alone...”

“Yeah, yeah, _sure_. I’ll see you then.”

Good-byes were said, and the phone was wrestled back into its nesting place. Waya stared blearily at his kitchen before deciding that even the most instant of dinners would be too exhausting, and so instead stumbled over to the corner of his apartment that served as his bedroom. He barely remembered to change out of his clothes before he collapsed onto his futon.

Shit. Maybe it wasn’t just Isumi, then. Maybe it wasn’t Isumi at all. Maybe it had nothing to do with Waya’s horrible and ridiculous and totally inappropriate and friendship-breaking confession. Maybe it was just Waya, and that Waya sucked at multi-tasking, sucked at keeping up with his best friends. What kind of person would do this? Who would drop people so readily once their companionship was no longer needed? Waya wasn’t a person like that, he _knew_ he wasn’t a person like that, but without the weekly insei meetings, it was so hard to meet with everyone, so hard to remember what was going on with whom, so hard to remember that he hadn’t seen them in months. Shit, shit, shit.

Well, title matches or not, this needed to be fixed. Starting tomorrow, he’d learn to be a better friend.

Starting tomorrow...

\--

_Someone was knocking at the door._

Waya opened his eyes, squinted at his clock, and groaned. No way. Morning was not supposed to happen this fast. He dragged himself out of bed—literally—and managed to haphazardly stand up before lumbering his way toward the door, not bothering to change from his rumbled pyjamas into something more visitor-friendly. Fukui could handle it.

Fukui... Wait... Hadn’t he said _ten_? He turned around sharply, almost knocking himself over as he dodged the trip-wire phone cord, and glared at the clock again. It read 9:23. That little bastard.

He yanked the door open, scowling, and opened his mouth to deliver a scathing speech about people who arrived—unannounced!—almost an hour early, but he closed it again quickly and just stared instead.

Isumi stared back at him and managed a wan smile. “I brought sushi,” he said, holding it out as like an olive branch.

...Which was definitely weird, since Waya was sure they hadn’t fought or anything...

Isumi helped Waya set the table and brew the tea, and they settled down to eat, sneaking nervous glances at each other.

What the hell?

Finally, Isumi took a deep breath and said, very carefully, “Waya, I know I haven’t been the best of friends lately. We’ve both been very busy, and it’s been difficult to find times that are free for both of us, but that’s no excuse for my behaviour. I want to apologize for avoiding you, and I promise that—”

“Wait, _what?!_ You’ve—” Waya’s eyes were suddenly wide-open and wild, and Isumi shifted uncertainly.

“I’m sorry?” he tried.

“—been _avoiding_ me? Since when? _Why?_ ”

There was a pause as both of them tried to catch up to the other side of the conversation, and then a longer pause as they both stared at each other, trying to figure out what the other one meant.

Isumi broke the silence first. “Since the last time we met, when you told me...”

“Oh... yeah. Right.”

So it was true.

“You didn’t, er... notice?”

Waya blushed. “Like you said, we’ve been busy.”

“Yes, we have,” said Isumi quietly. He sighed. “This isn’t really how I imagined the life of a pro to be.”

“What’d you think it’d be like?” Waya asked, hoping he wasn’t being too nosy. Isumi rarely seemed willing to discuss his inner thoughts; as kind and helpful as he was, he still held himself fairly aloof.

Isumi didn’t seem to notice Waya’s hesitation. “I don’t know. Different. I didn’t think there would be this... awkwardness. We were always competing against one another as insei, but,” he stared into his cup of tea, not seeming to realize that it’d gone cold. “I guess I thought the pressure to do your best, to be _the_ best, wouldn’t be so strong once we’d taken the pro test. The pro test was the goal, and I guess I thought everything after that would be easy, that we’d just be automatically set for life.” His eyes slowly refocused on Waya’s face, and he added, “Or at least that we wouldn’t be struggling to remain friends despite the competition.”

Waya’s heart soared foolishly at hearing Isumi call them friends, before his brain belatedly processed the rest of Isumi’s statement. “We’re not struggling! I mean, this... or... you avoiding me or whatever, that has nothing to do with competition, does it?”

Isumi, still staring at Waya expressionlessly, said, “I don’t know.”

“Wait, but... You just said you’ve been avoiding me because I told you that I... that I... you know...”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did! You said you’d been avoiding me since—”

“ _Since,_ not _because_.”

“Oh... right. Er...”

_Whatthehellwhatthehellwhatthehell?!_ This didn’t make any sense... It almost sounded as though Isumi was _jealous_ of Waya’s abilities or _dan_ , but how was that even possible? Isumi had always been the better player, and Waya’s earlier ascension to the rank of pro was the only reason he was a higher _dan_ than Isumi. Isumi knew that, right? What the hell was going on?

“You thought I was avoiding you because you’re in love with me?”

Waya couldn’t help but feel insulted by Isumi’s ease in pronouncing that statement. This was not a casual topic! Okay, maybe he’d been praying for Isumi not to think of his confession as a big deal, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a big deal!

He quickly suppressed his irritation and said, “Well... yeah. It seemed reasonable enough.” Waya peered at Isumi, trying to interpret the older man’s expression.

Isumi opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it again, his eyebrows knit together, and his lips pressed into a tense line. “I told you before, Waya—”

A knock on the door made them both jump, and Waya looked at the clock, startled. Ten o’clock. Shitshitshitshitshit.

“Er... That must be Fuku. We said we’d meet up for some tutoring for the pro test. Er...”

“I see,” said Isumi, and his expression make Waya shift uncomfortably, though he couldn’t have said why. “I’ll be leaving, then.”

Waya silently headed to the door and let Fukui in, who blinked when he saw Isumi, but otherwise didn’t seem surprised. There was a brief exchange of pleasantries before Isumi make his excuses and departed, leaving Waya and Fukui standing in the entrance, staring at each other.

“So,” Fukui grinned, “I feel as though I’ve missed something.” He didn’t seem particularly concerned.

Waya inwardly debated on what to tell Fukui, before deciding _what the hell_. He’d made a promise to rebond with his friends, right? And Fukui wasn’t exactly known for being indiscrete...

Waya shut the door and began to speak.

 

\--

_Three days later, Saeki hadn’t become anymore successful at thinking._

He loitered around at his place reading kifu and replaying old games, and then moved on to Waya’s, hoping to scrounge up some inspiration.

Once Waya had delicately and gently kicked him out—the resulting bruise was turning disturbing colours—the only thing left was Shindou.

Shindou spent the majority of his gameless late mornings and early afternoons in Touya’s go salon, getting into shouting matches with Touya after losing. It was sort of amusing from a distance, but the thought of asking an irate Shindou for advice sent shivers down Saeki’s spine. Still, he didn’t have many options; he had no idea how Shindou spent the rest of his time, nor where Shindou lived. He didn’t even have his phone number.

After a few false starts, Saeki managed to get himself moving toward the go salon, and if his movements were slightly lethargic... at least, he told himself, he was moving at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic a long time ago, and I finished it a year ago. I was going to force it through a crazy set of rewrites before I posted it, but instead, finally, I decided to post it as is. I wanted to write a fic with two parallel love stories with a POV on either end, and this is what came out.
> 
> This was originally part of a challenge undertaken by some of my friends and I--a challenge to write 20 pages (single-spaced block format, verdana size 9 font. We even specified the margins) of a single work in 20 days. ...None of us managed to complete the challenge, but, on the bright side, I did manage to complete this fic, though that completion happened long, long after the challenge's deadline.
> 
> I'll be posting a chapter every week, but the whole thing is already posted on my LJ and my DWS if you're in a hurry. Just comment/message me if you need a link.


	2. Confusion Is Abroad

_The salon was crowded,_ but not as teeming with people as Saeki had secretly expected. Apparently not even the fame of the former Meijin could magically draw people when so few Japanese had any interest in go. He glanced around uncomfortably; everyone here seemed to know one another. Of course, every salon had its regulars, but what if these people recognised that he wasn’t normally here? What if they, in fact, recognised that he was a member of Morishita’s study group? He felt as though he must have “STUDENT OF THAT-ONE-GUY-WHO-CLAIMS-TO-BE-TOUYA-KOUYO’S-RIVAL. KILL UPON SIGHTING” scrawled across his forehead in red ink. Any second now the shouting would start, and then pitchforks and torches would be produced from beneath the goban, and his resulting obituary would read, “Saeki Kouji: mobbed to death by old men. Remembered for his lack of noticeable qualities, as well as his mediocre performance in go.”

A hand gently tapped Saeki’s elbow, and he jumped and barely managed to smother a scream before he collected himself and turned to face his assailant, armed with the innocent denial of ever having met—Morishita, did you say?—yes, him.

The huge grin staring back at him belonged to Ashiwara, and that was infinitely more terrifying than all the pitchfork-and-torch-wielding old men in the world.

“I’m looking for Shindou,” Saeki said quickly, nervously fiddling with his keys in his pocket. “He said he’d help me with something.”

Ashiwara laughed, and for good reason. The salon certainly wasn’t big enough to hide in, especially not when Shindou and Touya Akira’s goban had attracted a small crowd of enthused observers. A bit hard to miss. “He’s right over there,” he said, pointing unnecessarily, “but he’s in the middle of a pretty intense game. I doubt he and Akira will be finished any time soon.”

Saeki mentally cursed his bad-timing, but he couldn’t waste time on regrets, not with Ashiwara standing two feet away from him. “Well, I’ve got a pretty busy schedule… I’d better get going.”

“Oh? I didn’t think you had a game today.”

…The hell? Was this guy keeping track of his schedule? Saeki attempted to force a pleasant smile onto his face, but suspected that he simply looked deranged. “No, I don’t. But with the title matches coming up, I have a lot of studying to do…” With luck, this comment would have the double effect of reinforcing Saeki’s supposedly strained agenda while also reminding Ashiwara of his own time constraints.

“Oh, of course! But we’re entering in the same round, aren’t we? Why don’t we study together?!”

 _Together TogetherTogether…_ The words echoed in Saeki’s head like a church bell announcing a funeral. “I’m not sure if—”

“Look! There’s a free goban!”

And with that, Saeki was yanked by the arm—owowowowowow—and dragged to the mysteriously open goban. They began recreating and discussing games, and all the while Saeki was ruthlessly subjected to pleasant comments and general cheer. Eventually, Ashiwara grabbed the other man’s arm again, this time to relocate him to a café for a late lunch. This was worse than the study session, because there was now no go to distract Ashiwara from his benign—and endless—chatter.

Saeki closed his eyes and cursed Shindou with every ounce of will he had.

\-- 

_Saeki had first encountered Ashiwara years earlier,_ but their current weak acquaintanceship was much more recent, and he wasn’t certain exactly where, when, or _why_ it had appeared. Ashiwara had simply popped up next to Saeki one day and had since then always existed in the background, hiding within every conversation, hovering behind every game. At first, this hadn’t been so bad; Ashiwara was friendly and cheerful, and Saeki had always perked up a bit when the other man’s name was mentioned.

Apparently, the feeling was mutual. Two weeks ago, Ashiwara had materialized by Saeki’s side and said very simply, “I like you.” It was said with an air of such calmness, with such nonchalance, that it took several moments for the statement to sink in completely. And when it finally did, he had nothing to say—he barely knew Ashiwara! He stared, flummoxed, searching for a way out of this awkward situation, when Ashiwara suddenly laughed. “Relax, Saeki- _ku~n_! It was a statement, not a question.” Ashiwara had walked away then, humming to himself.

And Saeki still had nothing to say.

\--

 _Fukui, being the one-hundred percent bona fide friend that he was_ , managed to hide his laughter in a long series of coughs. Waya attempted to scowl, but it ended up morphed into a smile.

After telling Fukui about his non-existent relationship with Isumi, he had gone off into a full-on rant about everything that had caused him even the slightest irritation over the past year or three. Since then, they’d met up as frequently as their packed schedules would allow, to study go and to allow Waya some more complain-time.

Waya had forgotten how funny Fukui could be, how relaxing it was to be around him. How awesome of a friend he was.

Fukui had been sympathetic to Waya’s failing-friend woes, empathetic to Waya’s go woes, and confused about Waya’s Isumi woes.

“Did he say _why_ he turned you down?” Fukui had asked, frowning.

“Er… Something about… Uh… You know, the usual gentle-rejection routine. ‘I’m not sure either of us are ready for a relationship of that level,’ and ‘I think we should just remain friends,’ and all that.”

Fukui’s expression had gone blank, and it made his face look strange, unnatural. “‘Not ready’?”

“Oh, come on, Fuku. Don’t think about it so much—he didn’t actually mean any of that stuff. That’s just the kind of stuff you say when you’re turning down a friend. I bet if I had been some hot chick in a mini skirt he would have jumped all over me.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Huh? I guess. Does it matter?”

“…”

And the conversation had ended there and remained untouched since.

Still, Waya’s friendship with Fukui had deepened beyond what it had been when they were _insei_ , and it made Waya feel as though he was walking on air. He’d even made plans to meet up with their other _insei_ friends once the pro tests were over, to celebrate for some and to console the others.

Now, Waya and Fukui were on their way back from an emergency trip to a nearby convenience store—Waya’s apartment being completely devoid of anything edible—while Waya was outlining his phone chord’s most recent attack on him, and Fukui attempted to convey sympathy around his suppressed laughter. 

“I’m serious!” Waya exclaimed, though he found that he was sniggering as well, “It’s trying to kill m—”

And he froze, eyes widening as they took in the sight of Isumi leaning against his apartment door, hands stuffed into his pockets. Waya blushed and found himself staring, suddenly completely devoid of anything to say, and Isumi didn’t seem eager to start a conversation.

Fukui glanced briefly at the two of them and said teasingly, “Wow, Isumi- _san_ , you sure don’t seem to be in the habit of calling before coming over.”

Waya’s gaze snapped to Fukui, relieved. “Just because you feel the need to call before you do _anything_ —”

“—because it’s _polite_ and _considerate_ to do so, not that I’d expect you to know what those words mean—”

“Oi!” Waya laughed, and he could feel the awkwardness leaving his system in waves.

“Aren’t you going to let us in, Waya- _kun_?” Fukui said meaningfully. “These bags are kind of heavy…”

“Yeah, yeah. E-excuse me, Isumi- _san_.” As he unlocked his apartment door, Waya couldn’t quite manage to keep the glowing smile from spreading across his face. He didn’t notice Isumi’s silence or stoic expression, but Fukui did, and he leaned back to watch, thoughtful.

\--

 _After the leisurely lunch, Saeki found himself back in the go salon,_ again across a goban from Ashiwara, this time to play a game. The prospect of playing go with the other man was a bit terrifying—imagine endless chatter and awkward glances providing a backdrop to a match—but _actually_ playing him was invigorating. Perhaps this was because the Ashiwara who faced him in go was not the same Ashiwara who had been loudly and exuberantly cutting off circulation to Saeki’s arm just a few minutes prior to the game’s commencement—like almost all the other go pros, Ashiwara became his go, and his go was a different entity altogether. The careless and slapdash attitude was gone, replaced with thoughtful purpose. Even his expressions were different; focused, his big eyes narrowed, staring past the stones into the heart of the game.

There was no need to hide here; no unanswered feelings, no imagined accusing stares—game-mode Ashiwara didn’t seem to notice Saeki at all, only his go. It was a relief.

Or, at least, it was a relief until Saeki lost the game spectacularly; in the frenzy of trying to avoid Ashiwara before the game, he’d almost forgotten about his game-block until he had picked up the first go-stone and found himself panicking, wondering what to do with it. Afterward, Ashiwara stared at him until the focus in his eyes faded and he beamed abruptly, cheerfully stating, “That wasn’t your usual playing level.”

No shit, asshole.

“Yeah, I’m in a bit of a slump.” Saeki attempted to respond in the same tone, but he knew he was failing miserably. He might as well have said that his cat had just died.

Ashiwara’s eyes widened ridiculously, and if it had been anyone else, Saeki would be sure he was being mocked. Ashiwara, however, seemed almost painfully genuine in his distress. “A slump?! With the title matches this close?!”

…Did he reeeeally think the reminder helped? Really?

And then Ashiwara’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists in adorable determination. “No way! I’ll get you out of this slump, Saeki~ _kun_ , just wait. We’ll meet up every day, beginning at breakfast and continuing on until supper until you’re got your game back!”

Oh. My. God. Please, no. Just… no.

“Er, actually, Shindou said he’d—”

“We’ll start out with reviewing games, and then we’ll compare theory, and then we’ll play a series of speed go games, and then—Wow! This sounds like so much fun, doesn’t it, Saeki~ _kun_?!”

Saeki almost fainted.

\--

 _Isumi still hadn’t relaxed,_ even after an hour of cheerful and snack-packed go study. The three were sprawled around Waya’s goban, replaying and discussing some recent games. Waya shot Isumi glances, trying to think up some way to make him forget about the Friendship-Breaking Confession.

So much for the still-friends-no-discomfort argument that Isumi had claimed. He hadn’t been this awkward during their sushi breakfast a few days ago, but maybe the guilt that had been eating away at him had softened him then. Waya puffed out his cheeks and scowled. Okay, so he could understand why all of this would make Isumi freak out, but Waya wished he had some sort of hint as to what to do. Fukui wasn’t helping, now; he was simply smiling, calmly asking questions about the games and not doing anything to defuse the awkward atmosphere around him—he didn’t even seem to notice it!

Waya turned back to Isumi and was startled to see Isumi looking back at him, eyes more gentle than they had been all day. “Waya? Are you okay? We can take a break, if you want.”

Waya flushed, irritated that he was being seen as inattentive when _really_ it was the fault of these _idiots_ around him who were making things awkward and not fixing it.

…Given a moment to think, the awkwardness was probably all on him. Damn.

Still, he glared at Isumi and Fukui in turn, saying in a very not-whiny voice, “You guys are being such _assholes_.”

Isumi gaped, unsure as to what had caused Waya’s sudden mood-swing, and Fukui sniggered. Isumi managed to say, “I-I’m sorry, Waya. I didn’t realize I was—What exactly—How—er…”

“You!” snapped Waya, his index finger waving wildly in Isumi’s wide-eyed face. “Stop being so awkward!” Fukui burst out laughing at this, and Waya’s whole body turned in response, finger aiming at its new target. “And _you_! Stop ignoring us!” This did not, unfortunately, do anything to deter Fukui’s mirth.

“S-sorry, W-Waya- _kun_ ,” Fukui choked out. “I-it’s just so f-fun to watch the two of you s-sneak heart-felt glances a-at each other—y-you’re so _cuuute_!”

Waya’s heart stopped, but not before it managed to pump every drop of blood in his body straight to his face. He stared at Fukui for a moment, disbelieving, and then leapt over the goban intending to shake the smaller boy silly, but instead tripped and found himself a few inches short and just thrashed madly, half on the floor and half on the goban. “You _idiot_! How am I ever going to get Isumi- _san_ to be comfortable around me again if he’s constantly reminded about me being…er…stuff?!”

Fukui was too lost in his laughter to be able to reply, but the tiny corner of Waya’s brain that was always fixed on Isumi managed to catch the older boy’s soft sigh. “Waya… How many times do I have to tell you? Your feelings don’t make me uncomfortable.”

“You saying that a million times won’t change the fact that it’s obviously not true.” Waya managed to right himself and now sat, hands on his knees and face still crimson, too mortified to meet Isumi’s eyes.

“I’m going to the washroom now—don’t mind me!” said Fukui as he cheerfully rose and disappeared from view.

Isumi waited until he heard the click of the door shutting before he responded, his voice tight, “It’s true. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Oh, come _on_ , Isumi- _san_! You’re suddenly all hot and cold around me, you barely say _anything_ , you almost never _smile_ at me—are you afraid if you do you’ll be leading me on or something? Okay, maybe I’ll get all fluttery if you smile at me—er, maybe I shouldn’t have said that—but I know you don’t like me that way, so I wish you’d just _chill_!”

“I never said—!” Isumi stopped suddenly, taking a deep, deep breath and slowly expelling it. “Waya. I’m… If you must know, I knew about your feelings for me long before you ever told me.”

Waya nearly passed out at hearing that. All of his nervousness, his fear at the confession—Isumi couldn’t have known about Waya’s feelings already, or just think of all that wasted anxiety he’d suffered!

Isumi continued, unaware of Waya’s sudden discomfort, “They never made me uncomfortable then—well, maybe a little embarrassed, but in a flattered sort of way—and they’re not what’s bothering me now.” He sighed again, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m not sure how to put this. It’s something like what I told you earlier, over the sushi; I’ve been feeling…insecure, I suppose, about our friendship. I suppose—well, maybe I—I think I—” Isumi blew at his bangs, frustrated. “I think I’m feeling a bit jealous, Waya.”

There’s that dizzy feeling again. Waya gripped his knees until his knuckles turned white and said in a very calm voice, “What?”

Isumi stared at him, eyes unreadable. “I’ve been trying so hard to think of a way to rebond with you, trying so hard not to become distanced from you again despite the go rivalry, and then—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” screamed Waya, furious with himself for his racing heart and flushed cheeks (hadn’t he promised himself and Isumi that he wouldn’t react this way to every little ambiguous comment?). “Enough with this go-rivalry bullshit. You can’t be serious about that! If that were the case, wouldn’t _I_ be distancing myself from _you_? You’re saying you’re jealous because you know you’re better than me but I still have the higher rank? Shouldn’t _I_ be jealous, because I know it won’t be long before you pass me by? Don’t pretend that this has _anything_ to do with fucking _go_.”

Isumi’s shocked expression made Waya feel proud, briefly, and then all at once ashamed for his outburst. He looked away, panting slightly.

“Waya…” said Isumi gently, “We’re professional go players. Go is our _life_. _Everything_ has to do with go.”

Waya remained silent, still avoiding Isumi’s gaze.

“Anyway, that’s not really what I was getting at,” Isumi sighed. “That’s all true, but I meant that I’m jealous of Fuku.”

Waya blinked, uncertain of where this was going. “…Of _Fuku_?”

“I—as, I said, I’ve been… struggling, unsure how to maintain our friendship, but Fuku just walked in one day and did exactly what I’d been trying to do, without even blinking!”

“Unh?”

“I know that Fuku is more— _friendly_ than I am, easier to get along with, but it seems unfair that this should have been so easy for him when it seemed so impossible for me.”

“Nng?”

“And so I’m sorry for my behaviour, Waya. I suppose I should apologize to Fuku, too, but somehow I suspect he already knows everything.” Isumi glanced away, suddenly looking irritated. “Maybe too much of everything,” he muttered under his breath.

“How—” Waya’s voice stuck in his throat, so he cleared it and tried again. “How is it, exactly, that you get so caught up in the unimportant things and totally breeze by the big, big, big things?”

Isumi snorted. “I’ve been wondering the same thing about you,” he said dryly, before he started and blushed, adding hurriedly, “N-not that your feelings are unimportant or anything, it’s just that… I can’t see why it is that you’d think I’d be _bothered_ by them…”

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Fukui cheerfully stepped out of the restroom, planted himself in front of the goban, and said casually, “So… break’s over?”

Waya and Isumi smiled simultaneously. “Yeah,” said Waya. “I guess so.”

\--

 _Saeki and Ashiwara were still in the go salon when the shouting match began._ Ashiwara’s enthusiastic planning had ended well before, and the two had settled into a quiet study session, softly discussing games. Saeki had been fully relaxed, and had almost forgotten about the unanswered confession that he’d been so focused on not thinking about.

Then the yelling began.

It happened suddenly. The salon was a calm buzz of go-related activity one moment, and in the next the patrons were rushing away from one corner of the room as two voices began bellowing nonsensical remarks at one another. Saeki couldn’t help but stare, awed. He’d never actually seen one of Shindou and Touya’s infamous tiffs before, but he’d always assumed that they had some degree of reasonability. But—

“How can you say that move made sense? It was ridiculous!”

“It made perfect sense! It’s not my fault you’re too blind to see it!”

“ _I’m_ blind? You’re an idiot!”

“ _You’re_ the idiot! How—”

—And on it went.

Saeki snuck a glance at Ashiwara, and saw him idly fiddling with a go stone, his lips twitching. Saeki began to snigger, and Ashiwara grinned. Before long, the two were doubled over, clutching their stomachs, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their cheeks. It felt good to laugh with Ashiwara…

…Unfortunately, they were also attracting attention from the other patrons, including the irate Shindou and Touya, who turned to stare accusingly at the laughing pair before Shindou stormed out of the salon in a huff. Saeki managed to gather himself enough to begin to stand in an attempt to follow Shindou—after all, the whole point of coming here had been to talk to Shindou, right?—but he was stopped by the crowd of old men who were now approaching, frowning.

“It’s Saeki Kouji- _san_ , isn’t it?” One of them asked. “From Morishita- _sensei_ ’s study group?”

Saeki chuckled nervously, glancing desperately at the exit. “Er… Yes. That would be me. Can I help you?”

Judging by the deepening frowns, that did not seem to be the correct answer. “Doesn’t Morishita- _sensei_ call himself Touya Kouyo- _sensei_ ’s rival?” asked one of the anonymous old men.

“Uh… I’m afraid you’ll have to discuss that with Morishita- _sensei_.” Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit! The old men really _were_ out to get him!

Ashiwara had managed to gather up his things, though he was still laughing. “Come on, Saeki~ _kun_ , I’ll walk with you to the bus stop,” he said. “Or are you still trying to catch up with Shindou- _kun_?”

“I… uh… let’s just… leave.” Saeki found himself tugging at Ashiwara’s arm, using the other man as a barrier between him and the scowling old men who seemed to be out for his blood.

As they exited the salon, Ashiwara said, “You know, I could always ask Akira for Shindou- _kun_ ’s phone number and text it to you. If you’re so interested in meeting up with him. Don’t forget about our study dates, though!” Ashiwara had managed to wheedle Saeki’s contact information out of him while they’d worked their way through the countless replays in the salon.

Saeki blinked. He hadn’t considered this option. He cast a small smile in Ashiwara’s direction before replying, “That would really help. Thanks.”

The rest of their walk to the bus stop was mostly spent in a comfortable silence. When they turned to part ways, Ashiwara sent Saeki a glowing grin before pulling away, practically skipping down the street. It was only then that Saeki realized that he’d been holding Ashiwara’s arm the whole trip. He collapsed onto a bench by the stop, his ears a bright red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And wow, I was going to add this chapter a week and a half ago, but then my life exploded and... it just didn't happen. But, here it is, and I am determined to follow my once-a-week update rule from now on, despite there only being two chapters remaining.


	3. Truth and Not Truth: A Swiss Cheese Definition

“ _You should relax, Saeki-_ san,” said Shindou sagely as he loudly slurped his soda. “Just focus on the go and forget about the competition and everything else.”

Saeki stared. “That’s your great advice? I just spent the past hour pouring out my soul to you in the hopes of having my go-trauma cured and you say I have to ‘relax’?”

He’d even related the embarrassing bits about his concerns of inadequacy, like his specific fears of Touya Akira and Ochi and Shindou himself. _Just ‘relax’?_

Shindou beamed. “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“ _No_ , it’s not _brilliant_ , Shindou! I _know_ I have to relax! _How_ do I relax?”

“Ah, yes. For this I have a time-tested and fail-safe solution...”

Saeki waited patiently for the rest, but all of Shindou’s attention had been transferred to the ramen that he was currently downing at a disturbing rate. “Shindou? The solution?”

“Huh? I’m showing it right now! Demonstrating is everything, right?”

Saeki was unimpressed. “…Your solution is gluttony?” At Shindou’s responding pout, he forced himself to try again. “Er… terrible table manners?”

“Awww! You’re just as bad as Touya.”

Despite his immense respect for the rising go star, Saeki couldn’t help but be mildly offended by this. After all, Touya Akira was… well, _Touya Akira_. As Saeki mentally shuddered, Shindou took it upon himself to spell out his brilliant all-cure.

“Anyway, it’s obviously _ramen_.”

“…What?”

“The solution. The thing that can always get you to relax and feel happy no matter what. Ramen.”

Saeki felt horror filling his whole form. Why had he decided asking Shindou for advice was a good idea? He couldn’t remember. Oh yeah—parallels, right?

“Shindou,” Saeki began carefully, eyeing Shindou’s mouth for signs of frothing, “while ramen is a very wonderful thing, I notice that it didn’t help _you_ during those months _you_ disappeared from the go world. How did you recover from _that_ slump or whatever it was?”

Something about Shindou changed, then. It was subtle—a slight change of posture, a strange tilt to his eyes, laugh-lines fading into a worry-lines—but suddenly Shindou seemed to be a different person, just for an instant.

And just for that instant, Saeki felt guilty about asking, about bringing up what was obviously a sensitive topic. But hadn’t Shindou brought it up himself, the last time they’d spoken?

But then Shindou’s grin was back full force, cheeky and obnoxious and so _in character_ that it was startling. “ _Weeeeeeell_ , I wouldn’t say ramen had _nothing_ to do with my recovery, but—”

“ _Shindou_.”

“I guess that what I had to do was remember what go really means to me, and what’s really important to me, and to the people I love. There was something I needed to find, something that I couldn’t play go without. I looked for it everywhere, but in the end… I found it in myself.”

Saeki, shocked at the serious answer he’d finally received from Shindou, simply stared for a moment, before he managed to shake it off. “What was it?” His eyes strayed to the pocket that he _knew_ always housed that cheap fan that Shindou treasured so dearly. “Like a lucky charm or something?”

Shindou’s eyes were unfocused. It was disconcerting. “No. Something much more important.”

Saeki remained silent for a moment, sensing that Shindou would not yield to more questioning. Then he said, “I can’t think of anything like that that could be screwing with my go. Anything I’ve lost or whatever.”

Shindou slurped on his soda again, fingering the straw thoughtfully. “And there’s nothing that’s bothering you? Outside of being yesterday’s news, I mean.”

 _Thanks, Shindou. You spare my tender ego no amount of gentleness_. “Well… There’s something else. Something small. Not really an issue or anything.”

Shindou perked up immediately, the corners of his lips twitching. “Oh? Let’s hear it.”

“Actually, it’s something I’d rather not discuss at the present time—”

“Saeki- _san_. Seriously. If you want more than my ramen-solution—which is just what everyone needs, by the way, I don’t know why you’re complaining—you’ve gotta give me something to work with.”

“Shindou, I’ve spent _ages_ giving you stuff to work with, and—”

“And I’m working with it. It doesn’t help if it’s only half the problem, though.”

“I wouldn’t rate it as _half_. My insecurity in the go world is like _98.6_ percent of the problem, and Ashiwara is more like—”

“ _Ashiwara?!_ ” Shindou laughed. “No way! He makes golden-boy-Isumi look like a brick-toting hooligan out to steal grandma’s cane.”

… _What?_

“Isumi?” he asked instead, feeling awkwardly as though that name should be familiar to him.

“A friend of mine who became a pro last year. You know. Waya’s boy-toy?”

Saeki flushed and choked. “…Boy-toy?”

“Anyway, what’s Ashiwara done that’s making you all cute and blushy?”

“I’m not—he’s not—I don’t—he—” Saeki stopped and _breathed_ , and then carefully avoided Shindou’s eye as he decided to just get on with it. “He sort of… told me that he likes me.”

Shindou had leaned over the table to catch the last few words, and when he did, the explosive laugh that followed made Saeki lean back, irritated and already beginning to regret his decision.

When Shindou finally calmed down, he asked in an almost sober voice, “So, what’s the trouble? He’s cute, right? Even if he’s old.” 

Saeki twitched at that. _I am not old, you little twat. You_ know _Ashiwara and I are the same age_. “Despite what you may think, Shindou, someone’s physical appearance isn’t the only thing to look at when deciding whether or not to date someone.”

Shindou looked shocked, and for a moment Saeki was horrified for anyone Shindou ever dated, but then Shindou revealed the cause for his surprise. “Deciding? Didn’t you say yes?”

“No! I said—I said…”

“You said no?”

“…No…” Saeki could see the confusion on Shindou’s face, and felt a blush crawl onto his face.

“…So… what did you say?” Shindou prompted.

“…Nothing.”

“…Nothing?”

Saeki cleared his throat. “I just sort of… stood there.”

“And since then?”

“Er… I haven’t really… We haven’t… Ah… The subject hasn’t been broached again.”

“How long has it been?”

“Eh… Two-ish weeks?”

Shindou stared at him as though wondering if this was just a joke. “Two weeks? And you haven’t done anything?”

“I don’t know what to do!”

“Tell him how you feel!”

“I don’t _know_ how I feel!” Saeki snapped, and then winced when he saw pity grow in Shindou’s eyes. There’s nothing worse than being pitied by someone like Shindou, a notorious social disgrace (who somehow seemed to have befriended everyone. Maybe Saeki was just looking at things from the wrong end of the ballpark). “So?”

“So what?” Shindou asked, still staring at Saeki dubiously.

“So what should I _do_?” 

“Saeki- _san_ … I really think that you need to give him an answer. I really think you need to give _yourself_ an answer. It’s gotta be the indecisiveness that’s tearing you apart, distracting you from your go.”

Thank you, Captain Obvious. “What if I can’t find an answer?”

Shindou grinned. “Just choose one! You either like him or you don’t. Fifty-fifty. One of them has to be the truth, doesn’t it?”

“Er, yeah. I guess. Okay. Yeah.”

 _One of them has to be the truth_ …

\--

 _Waya whistled cheerfully as he went about locking his door before skipping down the hall._ He gazed up at the overcast sky and thought all those grey clouds looked rather pretty.

…Okay, maybe he was overdoing it. But still, he was going to meet Isumi for a study session at one of their old go salon hang-outs, and he was more than a little bit hopeful that the evening would end with the two sharing dinner at some nearby restaurant.

Waya glanced at the sky again and wondered if it would rain. He hadn’t thought to check the weather reports before leaving his apartment, so he hadn’t brought an umbrella. If it did rain, and if Isumi had an umbrella, maybe they’d share?

Waya blushed and hurriedly tried to stomp that thought out of existence. _Just friends,_ he remembered. _Don’t forget, we’re just friends._

Still, the image wouldn’t leave his mind, and as the sky continued to darken while Waya made his way over to the go salon, Waya’s cheeks darkened with it.

Isumi was already seated in the go salon when Waya arrived, and seeing the way the slim button-down fit across the older man’s shoulders convinced Waya that lingering at the entrance was definitely the best option. He disguised his desperate need for recovery by pretending to survey the menu whilst he focused his mind on unattractive thoughts in the hope that maybe the colour in his cheeks would finally fade.

After he had collected himself as much as he was able, he finally ordered a hot chocolate and, once he had received his order, headed over to the table where Isumi was waiting for him.

“Hey,” said Waya, attempting to exude nonchalance and failing miserably.

Isumi glanced up and gave a smile so sweet that Waya could feel his internal organs rearranging themselves as his face quickly turned crimson. After all that work getting himself back under control again…

But Isumi just smiled wider and invited Waya to sit down. The two began to replay a game, Isumi leaning on one elbow and staring at the board in concentration, and Waya cradling his hot chocolate and doing his absolute best not to let his eyes drift down Isumi’s form.

 _No, no, no! Act normal!_ he chastised himself, feeling his face turn even more red. He didn’t even realize he’d zoned out until he felt a soft touch to his wrist and started, spilling hot chocolate all over his hands and yelping as he did so. Isumi hurried to grab some napkins, flushed with embarrassment and spouting babbling apologies over and over.

“Are you alright?!” was Isumi’s last exclamation, and Waya finally had to burst out laughing at Isumi’s expression.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” he sniggered, grinning up at Isumi, who slowly grinned back. Their eyes caught, and Waya just stared for a moment, mesmerized by the gentleness in the older man’s dark gaze.

A particularly loud clack from the goban next to theirs snapped Waya out of his reverie, and, yet again bright red, he stammeringly made some inane observation about the game they were reviewing. Isumi somehow managed to pull enough worth out of his comment to continue that train of thought, and their discussion continued.

It was only when his blush had finally faded that Waya realized, suddenly and heartstoppingly, that for him to have been caught up in Isumi’s gaze all that time, Isumi must have been staring right back at him.

He glanced up at Isumi, trying to read the older man’s expression, but Isumi seemed completely focused on the game. Waya puffed out his cheeks and slumped down, frowning in slight disappointment.

Isumi’s lips twitched.

Waya sat ramrod straight, staring at Isumi, wondering if he’d imagined it. Isumi once again appeared to be absorbed in the game, but Waya was certain he’d seen that split-second smile.

 _Don’t be an idiot! Isumi turned you down, remember? You’re just imagining things, or misinterpreting them, or something. You_ promised _you wouldn’t read everything that happens in a romantic light. So stop being stupid!_

“Are you okay, Waya?” asked Isumi softly, and Waya couldn’t help but let himself be caught in that gaze once again.

He stubbornly shook himself free and said, “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You seem a bit… distracted.”

Waya stared closely, and no, he wasn’t imagining that almost microscopic smile. Was Isumi laughing at him?! He scowled briefly, unaware that he was pouting as well.

“I’m just hungry,” he said. “Do you wanna go catch something to eat?”

“Sushi?” asked Isumi, his smile growing.

“Preferably,” grinned Waya.

“Sounds great,” Isumi laughed, already standing up to leave. Waya’s breath caught as he watched Isumi’s body smoothly unfold itself, and hurriedly followed.

When they reached the door, he saw with dismay that his early ponderings about the weather had turned out spot on. Romantic daydreams were all very well, but the real world worked in a rather different way, and the thought of eating out with Isumi while looking like a drowned rat made his stomach turn unpleasantly.

“Didn’t you bring an umbrella, Waya?” asked Isumi, a touch of a amusement in his voice as he brandished his own. Waya opened his mouth to respond, but rather than continue his teasing, Isumi just said, “Here, share mine.”

“W-what?!” squeaked Waya.

Isumi blinked at him, surprised, and flushed. “Er… Is that not alright? If you want, you can use it and I’ll just walk in the rain—I don’t really mind.”

Waya recovered himself and managed to say, “No, sharing is fine.” He hoped he didn’t look too ecstatic or anything. Talk about embarrassing.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind being without it; if it makes you uncomfortable to share, I can—”

“Isumi- _san_! Seriously, it’s fine.” To prove his point, Waya manoeuvred them under the umbrella and tugged them into the rain. When they were almost to the station, Waya glanced up at Isumi, taking in the scattered droplets of moisture that were clinging to Isumi’s skin and hair and the soft flush in the older man’s cheeks. He leaned a little deeper into Isumi’s warmth, ready to blame his action on further escaping from the pouring rain. Isumi didn’t say anything, but his arm came up around Waya to pull him closer. Waya blushed, and tentatively reached up to grab a hold of Isumi’s jacket.

_Was this really happening?_

As if on cue, a bicycle came up the narrow path, the rider precariously balancing an umbrella on a handlebar as she negotiated the bend in the path. Waya gently shoved Isumi into the partition on the side of the path and pressed up against him to give the cyclist room. When she’d passed, he tried to pull away, but discovered that Isumi’s arms had come up around him and were holding him in place. He looked up at Isumi questioningly and found that he didn’t have to look up quite as far as normal. Isumi’s face was scant inches away from his, cheeks flushed and warm breath falling on Waya’s lips. Waya sucked in a sharp breath and waited, hardly daring to believe that this was happening, that this was real, not bothering to wonder why or how…

Another bicycle rode by, the sudden movement making Isumi jump and push Waya away.

Waya frowned, a bit hurt, and brushed himself off, barely aware of the rain that was quickly soaking him now that he was no longer under the protection of the umbrella.

He looked back at Isumi, who was staring at him in horror.

…The hell? Was almost kissing Waya really that bad?

“Waya…”

“Isumi- _san_.” Waya was wet and hurt and not in the mood to face another rejection. What was going on? Why was Isumi acting this way?

Isumi sighed and tugged Waya back under the umbrella. Waya went with the motion, but stiffly, and unsmiling. “I suppose… We should probably talk.”

You think?

\--

 _Saeki twiddled nervously with his wristwatch_ , then his sleeve, then his keys, then back to his watch. He glanced quickly at the time, then returned to twiddling.

He was at the go institute, waiting for Morishita’s study session to begin. More importantly, he was waiting for the Touya study group to begin, because that would mean that Ashiwara would have to show up, and when Ashiwara showed up, Saeki would tell him—

—something.

 _Shit_. Time was ticking, and he still hadn’t made a definite decision as to what to say. Every time he thought he certainly felt one way for Ashiwara, he’d realize that no, he didn’t, not at all.

_‘You either like him or you don’t.’_

Easy for Shindou to say. He didn’t have to sort through the mess of emotions flooding through Saeki’s head in order to figure out which one was prominent or perpetual or whatever.

 _Shiiiiiiiiiit._ What was he going to do?

Hadn’t someone once told him something like, ‘If you’re not sure, the answer is no’? His stomach clenched when he thought of turning down Ashiwara, but wasn’t that the best thing to do? The _kindest_ thing to do? It was one thing to lie and say you didn’t like someone, but _faking_ feelings… Wasn’t that a whole different low? Pretending to like someone when you really don’t? Drawing Ashiwara into a false sense of security until Saeki would break and run, unable to keep up the lie?

So that was it that. Say no. Yeah. He’d have to say that he didn’t return Ashiwara’s feelings.

No problem, right? A cold feeling was creeping upon him, and he shivered, trying to ignore the sickness building up within him.

“Saeki~ _kun_?”

Saeki blinked, and there was Ashiwara, smiling gently at him.

_Shit. Ican’tdothiscan’tdothiscan’ttellhimthatI—_

Calm. Come on. “Hey... Ashiwara- _san_ , I wanted to—to talk. With you. A… talk.”

To Ashiwara’s credit, he didn’t laugh straight out in the face of Saeki’s weird behaviour, though his eyes crinkled at the corners.

 _He_ is _cute_ … _But it’s not like I’ve never noticed that before, and I didn’t lie when I told Shindou that that’s not all I’m looking for…_

_But what is?_

“What is it that you’d like to tell me, Saeki- _ku~n?_ ”

“I—about what you told me, you know, before, when you said that you—about me, that you have… that you—”

Ashiwara waited patiently, his smile unwavering.

Saeki floundered, searching for the words and failing. “I—you… I just don’t like you that way, Ashiwara- _san_. I don’t feel the same way you do.” _But was that the truth?_

\--

 _“The truth is_ , I feel the same way you do, Waya,” Isumi sighed. “I turned you down because we can’t enter into a relationship yet. You’re—you’re just too young, Waya.”

Waya stared at Isumi blankly, unable to believe what he was hearing. Too young? Well, yeah, he was a lot younger than Isumi, but surely not so young that he deserved being brushed off and lied to. 

When he didn’t receive any response, Isumi continued, “I didn’t want to leave you hanging, make you feel as though you had to ignore anyone else who comes your way until you’re old enough that I’m no longer such an awful creeper for feeling this way about you, so I thought it’d be best to just say no, without explaining all of this.”

_Better to lie to me, you mean._

Waya could feel the cold fury building up within, fighting to make its way out. He kept his face down, letting his bangs hide his eyes, and remained silent.

“Waya?”

This sounded like a drama, except that dramas don’t hurt this badly. Waya supposed he should be happy—Isumi was saying that he liked Waya back, after all. Except, he was saying a lot of other things, too, things he maybe didn’t even realize he was saying. Things like, ‘Guess what, Waya? You know all that anxiety and awkwardness and fear you felt around me, trying to make sure you didn’t make me too uncomfortable or force your feelings on me? Well, you didn’t have to have bothered worrying about all that. Quite a lot of wasted effort, wasn’t it?” Things like “You know that pain you felt when I turned you down, like a punch straight in the heart? You remember standing there, broken and mortified and vulnerable, and the effort it took to smile and walk away, to make it back to the privacy of your apartment before you fell apart? Well, you needn’t have felt all that, either. Isn’t that funny?”

_Funny…_

“Waya?”

_Funny…_

“Is this a joke?” he croaked out.

“What?” Isumi’s voice sounded surprised, but Waya didn’t chance a glance upward.

“This. A joke.”

“Wha-no. I don’t understand—how could you even ask me that? How could you even think that?” Isumi sounded a little angry now, confused and frustrated and hurt.

Waya felt a tiny spark of guilt, but it was quickly smothered by the fury beating its way through his entire system. 

_How dare you?! How dare you make this sort of decision for me? As though I can’t decide for myself whether I’d rather wait for you or move on._

_As though my feelings aren’t as real as yours._

Waya turned around and walked out into the rain.

“Waya? Waya! What—”

Waya ran. He ran as fast as he could through the downpour, splashing through puddles and skidding on the wet pavement until he arrived, panting, at the station, and hopped on the train back to his apartment.

 _If this were a romance story,_ he thought, _I’d make some comment about the rain masking my tears or something._

It sort of really was, not that he was willing to admit to it.

\--

 _Ashiwara was polite but quiet in response_ , and the two parted ways in amicable discomfort. When Saeki arrived at his own study session and settled down to play, he found—to Morishita’s chagrin—that his go was worse than ever.


	4. And as the Lines Blur...

_When Saeki arrived at the café_ , he glanced around nervously, expecting Ashiwara to have arrived early. The small eatery was busy, but was devoid of laughing heads of curly brown hair, so Saeki collapsed into a comfy-looking chair by a window and tried to calm himself down by drawing in several deep, deep breaths. It didn’t work. He had no idea what to do when Ashiwara arrived, what to say or how to act. Ashiwara would doubtlessly appear to be perfectly comfortable, his big eyes serene. If anyone made this situation worse than it had to be, it would be Saeki, with his awkwardness, and his stupid nervous tick, and his stupid, stupid hair—the breeze had blown it _everywhere_ , even Ashiwara wouldn’t be able resist laughing at him—and everything would just go wrong.

...Saeki didn’t know why he was acting this way. It wasn’t like it was, you know, a date or anything. After all, he’d turned Ashiwara _down_ yesterday, so this was like the total opposite of a date! It was like a...not-date!

Saeki groaned and let his head fall against the table with a thump. He _shouldn’t_ be acting this way. It was unfair to Ashiwara, and it was unfair to himself. He’d made his decision, just as Shindou had said to. He had finalized his emotions. So why weren’t they feeling finalized?

It wasn’t like he’d suddenly begun liking Ashiwara. When he tried to think about the other man in those terms, it still felt wrong, somehow. The problem was that, despite his decision and his action, despite that defining moment when he’d stood before Ashiwara and told him that his feelings were unreciprocated, those words felt wrong, too. Gaaargh. Stupid Ashiwara and his stupid curly hair! Saeki wasn’t certain what Ashiwara’s hair had to do with anything, but he was sure that his confusion in these matters was directly linked to those thick brown locks. And those big eyes. Yeah.

Shit.

There was definitely something wrong with him.

“Umm... Are you alright?”

Saeki shot up, but it was a waiter who was speaking to him, not Ashiwara. He cleared his throat. “Y-yes, I’m fine, thanks. Could I have a coffee? A really, really, reeeally strong coffee?”

“...Sure. Will that be all?”

“Yeah, for now. I’m expecting someone.”

“...I see. I’ll be right back with your order, then.”

Saeki dropped back down on the table, now mortified as well as confused. Great. As if he needed to be feeling even _more_ random emotions.

He glanced at his watch despondently. Ashiwara was eight minutes late. Was he alright? Had something happened to him? What if he was in the hospital and no one had thought to call Saeki to tell him because no one knew that Saeki was waiting for him, that Saeki was his quasi-friend?

Deep, deep breaths.

Okay, so Ashiwara had probably slept in a little or something. Or maybe arriving late to engagements like this was in Ashiwara’s norm... Saeki really had no idea. Saeki really had no idea about most things that had to do with Ashiwara.

A throat was cleared delicately, but when Saeki looked up it was the waiter again, this time bearing coffee. Saeki thanked him and took the cup, drinking immediately and wincing when the liquid burned off a few layers of skin. “Could I have some ice water, too?” he asked.

The waiter gave him a strange look, but disappeared, coming back a moment later with a glass and another suspicious expression.

Whatever.

Saeki looked at his watch again. Seventeen minutes late. Maybe Ashiwara had gotten lost? Or maybe his train was running late?

He took another sip of the coffee without thinking, rescorched the inside of his mouth, and quickly gulped some ice water.

Should he call, or send a message? Would that be too naggy? Maybe Ashiwara just didn’t want to come to early incase that made him seem too eager. Maybe he just wanted to make this as comfortable of a situation as possible. Yeah. That was it. Okay. Deeeeep breaths.

He’d finished his second cup of coffee and his third glass of ice water when he decided that maybe he really should call, because 47 minutes late was kind of ridiculous. He waited three more minutes, because fifty minutes sounded more impressive, and then took a deep, deep breath and pressed “call.”

The phone rang three times before Ashiwara answered, sounding cheerful, relaxed, alive, and distinctly lacking in that worried tone which Saeki thought might accompany the voice of someone who’d been wondering lost through Tokyo’s streets for an hour. “Hello, Saeki- _san_!”

Saeki’s heart fluttered nervously before the honorific drove its meaning home. “Huh?” Since when was Ashiwara formal with him? Okaaay... Saeki was suddenly more pissed off than nervous. “Where are you? Weren’t we meeting for breakfast?”

Ashiwara was silent for a long moment. “Were we?” he asked.

Saeki saw red for a moment. Deeeeeep breaths. “Yes. We were. What the fuck, Ashiwara?”

Ashiwara’s voice was no longer cheerful and calm. Instead, it turned soft and nervous and confused and made Saeki’s anger drain away as quickly as it had come. “I thought we cancelled, since you...” His voice caught as he trailed off and that sound made Saeki’s gut twist painfully. Shit. And then Ashiwara laughed abruptly. “Er.. yeah.”

“...What?” Saeki could hear the panic in his own voice, but he was never good at hiding things like that. “So, what, you’re just dropping my friendship as soon as I reject romance or sex or whatever? 

“No, no, no! I just—I mean, I’ve been sort of annoying lately, right? You always look irritated when I talk to you, or when I’m around you. I thought you wouldn’t want to meet up, since I’ve been pushing too far at your personal boundaries recently...”

Saeki let go of his breath and closed his eyes, smiling slightly. “Oi, Ashiwara- _san_ ,” he said, his voice distinctly whiny. “You knew I was an awkward bastard _before_ you started this friendship-thing; it’s too late to back out of it now.”

Ashiwara laughed, and Saeki could hear the other man’s pleased surprise clearly. It made him feel a bit fuzzy. He wondered if he was glowing. The waiter was now staring at him with a look of comprehension in his eyes, so maybe he was. Or something. “I’ll be right there,” said Ashiwara.

\--

 _Waya listened to his clock ticking the seconds away_ and thought that it would probably be a good idea to get up.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

He rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the blanket over his head. He lay there for a few moments, before he got to wondering what time it was. He sat up and squinted in the semi-darkness of his room, and was just able to make out the directions of the hands.

3:14 p.m.

Waya groaned and flopped back down. Okay. So yeah, this was sort of pathetic. He remembered the heaviness he’d felt just before he and Fukui had had that first tutoring session. His limbs had been leaden, and every movement had felt as though he were climbing through a bog. His head had been fuzzy, and his eyes had refused to stay open until he was lying on his back in the night, at which time they’d stubbornly refused to close.

And now those feelings were all back again. He’d thought before that it was exhaustion from his schedule, but with his new social outings this past while, he’d been busier than ever, but still managed to feel light and energetic. So what was it?

 _Depression…_ He knew the answer, but refused to let that word take residence in his mind. It sounded oddly embarrassing, or girly, or something, especially if the cause was romantic rejection. It’s not like he was watching soap reruns whilst single-handedly emptying a 4-litre tub of chocolate ice cream--he wouldn’t let himself form any other image of depression, out of the fear that the image would bear some resemblance to himself.

His stomach gave a sharp, angry stab, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Did he really want to go through all the effort of preparing food and then eating?

After another few painful reminders from his stomach, he sighed, and decided to at least see what was lying around that was immediately consumable.

He rolled over and crawled out of his futon and into his tiny kitchenette, eventually managing, after several failed attempts, to haul himself upright using the handles on his refrigerator. He tugged open the freezer and peered inside, taking in the half-empty ice tray, the three-month-old leftover spaghetti that he’d thought he’d eat later and never had, and the packages of frozen vegetables that his mom kept bringing over. He continued to dig around through the sparse packages absently, trying to figure out what he wanted, before he suddenly realized what he was looking for and slammed the door shut.

Screw food. Maybe he could get something delivered. Or he could just go back to sleep. At… 3:26 in the afternoon. He stomped back toward his futon, tripped on his phone cord, and came crashing down. He didn’t stand back up. Instead, he blinked up at the ceiling and hated himself for the tears that were leaking out of the corners of his eyes, for being so pathetic, for liking Isumi when the guy was such a freakin’ asshole, for…

He rolled over, ignoring the fact that he was only further entangling his leg in the cord, and listened to the phone ringing. It went on ringing for what seemed like forever before the caller finally hung up.

 _Idiot_ , thought Waya. It was the sixth call he’d gotten since he’d stumbled back into his apartment the evening before.

His eyes traced an odd crack in the wall. Had it been there before he’d moved in?

Some time later, a frantic knocking at the door shook him out of his mental drifting. He was slightly disappointed that the door didn’t literally shake with the strength of the blows, but eventually decided that it was probably a good thing that it didn’t. He could hear Isumi’s voice coming from the other side, but he was careful not to listen closely enough to hear the actual words. It wasn’t like they’d be true, anyway.

He wondered absently if he could get ice cream delivered, and then he hated himself all over again. Maybe he had been better off back when he thought it was just exhaustion…

How did he fix this, this lethargy, before?

Ha, that’s right. He'd made other people do it for him.

Well, in that case… He’d made a promise to rebond with his old friends, right? And who better to deal with his ice-cream-munchy love depression than a girl? They went through this stuff all the time in the movies, so they must have a bunch of hands-on experience dealing with this, right?

He reached up and up, stretching until his muscles screamed, and was rewarded when he felt the phone fall into his fingers. Standing up is for losers, anyway. His fingers dialled the still-familiar number, and he bit his lip, suddenly nervous, and he had almost decided to hang up by the time he heard the phone picked up on the other side. Panicked, he began without waiting for the other party to speak.

“Hey, Nase,” he stumbled, not bothering to introduce himself, “if someone told you a lie to keep you from getting hurt, but it really only hurt you more, and you’re reeeeeeally pissed off at him—because what was he even thinking, anyway?—would you forgive him?”

The other end was silent, and for a moment Waya was sure that Nase had gotten bored of listening to the ridiculous problems of some guy she used to know who had never bothered to keep up with her. _She must hate me_ , he thought miserably, not even realising that he’d fallen another level down on the Clichéd Romantic Depression Meter.

Finally, Nase’s voice came through the receiving end, choked from holding back her amusement. “What exactly did Isumi say, Waya?” she asked.

“What?!” Waya screeched, panicking again. “I didn’t say it was Isumi. Why would you think it’s Isumi?”

“…Honestly, Waya. Give your friends _some_ credit. It’s always Isumi with you, just like it’s always Touya with Shindou.”

“…Do me a favour and _never_ compare me to them again.”

“Only if you tell me what’s up!” she laughed. “Wait, no… If I know you, you’re wallowing on the floor in self-pity”—Waya winced at this—“so I’ll be over at your place in… give me 40 minutes. When I get there, you’d better be showered and groomed.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Waya, before realizing that Nase had already hung up. “Shit!”

\--

 _When Ashiwara arrived at the café_ , Saeki didn’t feel nervous at all, just sort of heady, like he’d had a few glasses of wine—which he hadn’t, and one might think that his two cups of really, really, reeeeally strong coffee might have taken care of that. Oh well. He waved Ashiwara over, despite the fact that Ashiwara had begun walking toward him immediately upon entering, and couldn’t help but smile brightly. Ashiwara stared at him wonderingly for a moment, but he was smiling too, so that was okay.

“So what should we have?” he asked, trying to conceal his enthusiasm.

“Saeki- _kun_ , you still haven’t eaten? Ah, I’m so sorry for making you wait for me for so long! I shouldn’t have just assumed that we wouldn’t meet!”

Saeki shook his head quickly. “It was no problem!”

The waiter materialized by the table, refilling Saeki’s water while smiling pleasantly, with no traces of suspicious or strange glances. “Would the two of you like to place your orders now?” he asked. The waiter wrote down their orders and departed, shooting Saeki a knowing smirk as he did so. Saeki was immune in his fortress of glowy-happiness, though, so it passed him by as he made light conversation with Ashiwara regarding their study groups the night before.

“Actually, mine didn’t go too well either,” Ashiwara admitted, blushing slightly.

“Huh? Are you falling into a slump, too? Wow, maybe I’m contagious.”

Ashiwara laughed. “No, I just wasn’t feeling... at my best, last night.”

“Oh... right. I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t—”

“No, no, I’m fine! Why don’t we go over some of the things we studied last night together, since neither of us were feeling up to par, then?”

“Right, sure!”

A magnetic goban was produced, and the study session began. They left the cafe eventually, and traveled together to Touya Kouyo’s go salon, exchanging go-related ideas the whole way.

Studying go with Ashiwara was fun when Saeki wasn’t putting all his energy into being terrified of the other man; it was the sort of fun that Saeki had forgotten go could be. It wasn’t that he’d lost his love of the game, or lost the will to play (shut up, Shindou), he’d just forgotten how to block out worldly pressures and just focus on the go. The other man was silly and brilliant all at once, making their study session wild and energetic, like Morishita’s lessons but without the immense pressure and the booming shouts. When Ashiwara and Saeki began to play a game together a few hours later, Saeki’s play was almost normal, and he could feel his confidence in himself building, at least until he glanced up midgame and saw Ashiwara staring at him with this _look_ in his eyes, and Saeki panicked and suddenly the game blew up in his face.

Saeki flushed when he finally resigned, feeling embarrassed. Ashiwara puffed out his cheeks, scowling cutely, before saying, “But the game started out so well! What happened?”

Saeki shrugged, trying not to think about it. About the guilt he felt for turning Ashiwara down, about the fact that he _still didn’t know how he felt about the other man, what the fuck?_

Ashiwara bit his lip uncertainly at Saeki’s silence and asked, “Was it me?”

“What?” asked Saeki, shaking off his mental tirade against himself.

“The reason your game fell halfway through. Was it because of me?”

Saeki opened his mouth to deny this, then closed it again, not certain how to respond to this question. Would Ashiwara prefer the more painful truth, or would he prefer a kinder half-truth? Saeki still didn’t know much about Ashiwara... He hesitated, and then said, “I think the reason I started out so well was that you make me feel comfortable and relaxed about myself, and the reason I bombed the second half was that I abruptly remembered the reasons you make me uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” said Ashiwara. There was a moment of silence before Ashiwara suddenly brightened and they began their post-game discussion, which added up to a lot more mortification for Saeki as he noted all of his many mistakes in the latter half of the game. Ashiwara rotated between being gentle and teasing as he pointed out various ways Saeki could have avoided repeatedly screwing his game over.

As the two were collecting the go stones, Saeki looked up at Ashiwara and studied him. The other man’s expression seemed calm and content, but Saeki was sure that was a facade. How did Ashiwara do that? How did he hide his emotions so well? Saeki couldn’t help but envy him this, and wondered if Ashiwara would feel less hurt about this whole situation if Saeki weren’t so easy to read.

Finally, Saeki asked quietly, “Are you okay?”

Ashiwara looked surprised briefly, but then he laughed and said, “Of course! Is something wrong, Saeki- _kun_?”

“W-well... I mean... I really hope that I didn’t hurt you too much last night when I—when I... er...”

Ashiwara smiled at him, and Saeki focused on the smile, trying to figure out how much of it was real. “Don’t worry about it! Do you want to keep on studying, or are you ready to call it a day?”

It took a moment for Saeki’s emotion-addled brain to follow the change of subject, and then another moment for him to try to come to a decision about it. No, he didn’t really want to continue studying go, but he didn’t really want to leave Ashiwara’s company yet, either. “Er...” he said. Now that the goban was packed up, the other patrons of the salon were looking at them, Saeki knew. The old men had been glancing at them throughout their stay, but now they were all-out staring, their eyes accusing and suspicious. Ugh. Saeki began to sweat. “We could...” His mind remained blank, despite his mouth’s desperate prompt.

“Why don’t we call it a day? You look tired, Saeki- _kun_ ,” said Ashiwara, still smiling.

“I—sure. Okay. Want to walk to the stop together?” Deep, deep breaths. Saeki’s mind was spinning, trying to get a hold of everything that was happening, everything he was feeling.

“Sounds great!”

The walk to the bus was awkward—even more awkward than it had been before Saeki had clarified his feelings to Ashiwara, if not to himself. Stupid fucking Shindou. He’d said it would get better! Never take emotional advice from a guy who thinks that screaming insults is an appropriate flirting method. Saeki finally reached out to tug gently on Ashiwara’s sleve, pulling them both to a stop. Ashiwara turned toward him, questioning, but waited patiently for Saeki to collect himself enough to speak.

“Are you really alright?” he asked.

“Saeki- _kun_? I told you I am.”

“Yeah... I just... Do you feel better now that you know? Or did you prefer the uncertainty?”

Ashiwara was silent for a long moment before he replied, “Are _you_ alright, Saeki- _kun_?”

Saeki looked down, staring at his hand which was still dangling from Ashiwara’s coat sleeve. “No.”

Ashiwara closed his eyes, letting out a soft breath, and nodded. “Okay. We don’t need to meet up like this, you know. If you need a break from me, to get used to this, or to forget, or whatever you need, that's fine.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think that’s what I need. I don’t know what I need. Why would I? I don’t even know what I want.”

“Saeki- _kun_?”

“I—” Saeki’s throat closed up, and so he cleared it and tried again, choking the words out. “I lied to you before.”

“What?”

Saeki listened closely, but he couldn’t hear anything in that voice but polite enquiry. “I lied—I... Fuck. So I was talking to Shindou, right? He made some stupid bet or something with Touya about us, so my slump has him freaking out, so he was trying to help me with it, right?”

Ashiwara nodded helpfully, but Saeki could see that the other man had no idea where this was going. Saeki was so focused on talking that he was barely aware that Ashiwara had gently drawn him away from the sidewalk and over to a bench.

“So...” Saeki continued, pausing while his mind made the realization that he was now sitting. Cool. “I was talking about my go, and then suddenly I was talking about you, and Shindou seemed to think that I was getting in a huff because I hadn’t given you an answer yet, and that seemed right, so he said I should answer you. Only... I didn’t know what to say! Because I don’t actually know how I feel about you!”

Ashiwara’s face went blank. Saeki hastily continued, “I mean, I barely know you, right? And when I wonder to myself if I like you, I _know_ I don’t, but when I think that maybe I don’t return your feelings, I _know_ that’s wrong, too.”

Saeki waited a few moments for a response, and when there wasn’t one, he babbled on desperately. “I just _needed_ to give you some answer, I felt like absolute _shit_ for leaving you hanging like that, but wouldn’t it have been really bad to tell you I liked you when it was a lie? I thought just being friends and seeing where that took us would be the best. But then today I’ve felt even worse about giving you that pseudo-answer than I did about not giving you an answer at all.” Saeki was panting, staring at his shoes. “A-and we hardly know each other!” He said again.

Ashiwara very gently touched his shoulder. “I think,” he said, his tone carefully carefully controlled, “that I’d rather know the truth about what you’re feeling, even if it doesn’t answer me completely. Besides, I told you before—when I told you that I like you, I wasn’t demanding a response, I was just telling you. It made me feel a lot better to have the truth out in the open. I can’t really function properly when I’m hiding something big like that.”

“Even if you didn’t need a response, I still felt guilty for not giving you one. You deserve a response, I think.”

“Thank you for thinking of me so kindly, Saeki~ _kun_ ,” Ashiwara said cheerfully. “Do you feel better, now that you have your truth out in the open?”

“I don’t know. I mostly just feel sick to my stomach.”

Ashiwara laughed. They sat in silence for a few moments, before Ashiwara asked, “Saeki~ _kun_... Do you like being with me like this?”

“I—yeah. Sort of.”

“...Sort of?” Ashiwara pouted. “That’s not quite the answer I was hoping for...”

Saeki rolled his eyes. “Haven’t we just talked about how bad I am at giving answers? I... I feel nervous around you, like I’m doing something wrong or really stupid. But I also feel amazing around you, like I can relax and be myself and I don’t have to _worry_ about being stupid. So... I don’t know. I shift back and forth, sometimes, and sometimes I feel both at once.”

“Hmm... And do you mind it when we’re touching like this?”

“Huh?” Saeki flushed as he realized what Ashiwara was talking about. He was leaning on Ashiwara slightly, and Ashiwara’s hand had switched shoulders so that his arm was consequently wrapped around Saeki. Oh... “I... It feels alright, I guess. I didn’t even notice...”

“I figured,” Ashiwara grinned. “So we barely know each other, right?” he said, subtly mimicking the way Saeki had repeatedly spoken those words earlier. “Why don’t we fix that?”

“You mean...”

“Let’s spend _loads_ of time around each other _all_ the time!”

“Uh...”

“I think we should put my initial study plan back into effect, Saeki~ _kun_. You know, where we—”

Saeki _had_ to get out of this one. “Why don’t we just have dinner?!” he said quickly.

Ashiwara’s eyes twinkled, causing Saeki’s stomach to perform some disturbing acrobatics. “Sure. Right now?”

“I—yeah. Sure. Now.”

“Great! I know the perfect place!” Ashiwara continued chattering as he grabbed Saeki’s hand to drag him to the restaurant, continued chattering as they ate, and continued chattering as he dragged Saeki back to his apartment for a last game of speed go. Saeki wasn’t sure if the chatter was a sign that Ashiwara was acting more relaxed around him again or if it was Ashiwara’s way of trying to tell Saeki about himself, but he decided it wasn’t all that bad. Ashiwara’s chatter had a sort of soothing effect, and the game of speed go he played against Ashiwara may not have been his best, but it was pretty damn good.

\--

 _A panting Waya answered the door_ , hair dripping, cheeks pink from his shower, teeth brushed, and a dab of shaving cream still clinging to his ear lobe. Nase promptly burst out laughing when she saw him, and shoved a store-bought bento into his arms before moving past him into his apartment and planting herself at the table.

“You aren’t this pushy when you’re with Iijima,” Waya complained, filling up his kettle.

“That’s because Iijima isn’t a little brat,” Nase responded mildly, and ignored Waya’s responding outburst of “Hey!” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm and stared at him evenly. “So. Start talking.”

And so Waya did. To his slight surprise, Nase listened to him seriously and patiently, and when he was done, considered the situation carefully before finally giving her opinion. “I’d be pissed, too,” she said. “But doesn’t it sound just like Isumi to do something like this?” Waya scowled and didn’t answer. Nase signed, and said, “if he really is uncomfortable dating you because you’re too young, Waya, I don’t think you should push it.”

Waya’s head shot up, and his mouth opened in outrage. 

“Please let me finish, Waya. I know you’re feeling hurt because you think he views you as a child, but I think you’re _more_ hurt by the fact that he lied to you, as though your opinion in all this doesn’t matter.”

Waya said nothing, instead choosing to trace patterns with his fingertip on the scarred surface of his table. 

Nase continued, “I think you should talk all of this through with him.”

“But I… I mean, what do I say?”

“Just the truth, I guess. You don’t need to forgive him or anything, just explain why you’re angry and listen to his explanations.”

“I’ve heard his explanations,” said Waya, scowling, “and they sucked.”

Nase sniggered. “Well, maybe he has some better ones to give you, now. Anyway, just talk about what you’re feeling, and maybe then you can take a break to calm down or something. You’ll feel better when it’s all talked through, I think.”

Waya looked down, smiling. “Thanks, Nase. I really appreciate you coming here to help me out, especially since I haven’t really been very good at keeping in touch…”

Nase reached across the table to gently hold Waya’s hand in her own. When he looked up, her eyes were serious. “Don’t worry about it, Waya. We’re all busy. And if this thing with Isumi doesn’t work itself out… Well, I’ll take you out for ice cream, okay? My treat.”

Waya was still preparing his angry retort when a knock sounded at the door. He froze, and stared at Nase desperately. _I’m not ready!_ he mouthed to her frantically. She just rolled her eyes in response, smirking pitilessly as she stood to leave.

As the two of them approached the door, though, Nase touched his arm, halting his movements. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly. “This isn’t some guy from the neighbourhood laundromat you’ve been making eyes at; this is Isumi, and you were friends before any of this other stuff popped up. So don’t be so nervous, Waya.”

Isumi was talking through the door, pleading. He sure was tearing himself up about this… Hearing Isumi’s anxiety somehow helped to calm Waya’s. After all, Nase was right; they _were_ friends, and he knew that at least in that way, Isumi’s feelings for him were genuine. And with that thought, he yanked the door open, scowl firmly in place, and said, “Jeez, Isumi- _san_ ; why is it that you always come over when I already have company?” He gestured vaguely toward Nase, who smiled and waved as she walked past Isumi into the hall.

“Don’t forget what I said, Waya!” was her only good-bye.

Waya snorted and forcibly dragged Isumi inside, who seemed to be stunned past the point of autonomous movements. Waya shoved Isumi onto a cushion by the table, carefully not mentioning the ignored phone calls and the unanswered door; even if he tried to use Isumi’s repeated visits to tease, it would probably reflect more on Waya anyway.

“So,” he said, plopping down next to Isumi. “You wanted to talk to me or what?”

Isumi just stared at him, apparently unable to believe his careless attitude after his earlier behaviour. Waya had never been so grateful for friends in his life. Without Nase, he’d still be moaning on the floor, absently thinking about ice cream. Instead, here he was, dressed and showered and at least able to feign a relaxed state; here he was, watching Isumi stutter and blush and panic in confusion.

After a while—a _long_ while—Waya took pity on Isumi and decided to start the conversation for him. “I’m really pissed off at you,” he said. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t very pitying. He should probably soften it up a bit. “Really, really pissed off at you.”

…Well… He was.

This seemed to be more in line with what Isumi had been expecting, because he jumped as if he’d been jolted awake and managed to settle himself. “I know,” he replied softly. “I—” his voice broke, and he cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing, “I’m sorry for how I’ve been handling this situation, but I really didn’t know what to do. I wanted to take the approach which would be the kindest to you, which would hurt you the least. I’m sorry I misjudged that so badly.”

Waya leaned back against his wall, gripping the ends of his sleeves and stretching out his legs. His Nase-inspired complacency was fading, now, and Isumi’s earnest stare was making his belly tingle nervously. “I don’t want to be lied to,” he said softly. “It’s not—it wasn’t kind at all. It hurt, when you rejected me. It hurt a lot, but I was able to overcome that, because you’re my _friend_. And then you tell me it was just a lie? That—I feel like the butt of a joke, like… Shit.” No, no, no. Crying was not a part of this plan. He might have to take up Nase on her offer of ice cream after all.

“Waya,” Isumi sighed, and he leaned over, handkerchief in hand, gently dabbing at Waya’s wet cheeks. Waya was beginning to suspect that Isumi was a shoujo-manga hero brought to life.

“Thanks,” he sniffled, trying very hard not to look as pathetic as he felt.

“Waya. I didn’t mean for—for the way I’ve been acting, the things I said—I didn’t mean for them to hurt you.”

Waya frowned, slightly bored with the repeated apology. “I know _that_. Just don’t do it again. Don’t lie to me again. If you feel some way, tell me about it, even if you don’t want to act on those feelings or whatever.”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ , too, but—”

“Yeah, yeah--too young, I know, I remember.” Waya kicked at the carpet, and then winced when his toe slammed into a leg of the low table.

There was strained silence between the two of them for a long moment, before Isumi finally asked, very tentatively, “I… I’ll remember that, next time, Waya. I won’t lie to you again. So… are we still… I mean, we’re still friends, right?”

Waya blinked at him, taking in Isumi’s worried eyes and nervous fingers, remembering all the times he had spent with Isumi, hanging out as friends. He looked away, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah,” he said, his voice slightly choked. “Still friends. But I’m still pissed at you. You’d better do something really nice for me to make up for this.”

Isumi smiled, his eyes crinkling, and Waya’s abdominal area experienced a sudden outbreak of winged insects. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, you were supposed to take me out for dinner, right?” asked Waya, grinning. “So let’s just start there and work our way up, shall we?”

Isumi paused, smile fading. “Waya… I mean, I still—I know I went about it badly, before, but I still—”

Waya waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes, I’m still too young, we still can’t get together. I meant as friends. Let’s just… let’s just hang out as friends, okay?”

Isumi practically melted in relief, but he managed to recover himself enough to say with a crooked smile, “I didn’t seem to manage ‘just friends’ all that well last time.”

“Yeah, well… Now we both know, so we’ll manage.” _And_ it won’t be too long until age isn’t a problem anymore. I can wait. I’m not as young as you seem to think, Isumi- _san_ …

“Yeah,” said Isumi, and Waya could tell from his expression that Isumi knew exactly what Waya was thinking. Still, he smiled, and repeated softly, “We’ll manage…”

\--

 _“Yo, Saeki-_ san _!”_

Saeki turned his attention from the task of putting on his shoes and allowed his gaze to fall on Waya, who was waving at him as though Saeki would have a hard time finding him in the small shoe room.

“Good job today. Morishita- _sensei_ was practically crying with relief. Are you finally over that slump?”

“It seems that way,” said Saeki, smiling crookedly.

Waya snorted. “Oh, _please_. You can never just give a straight answer, can you?” 

“Maybe I’m just not a straight person, Waya,” Saeki answered drily. As Waya choked, Saeki was suddenly reminded of something Shindou had said… ‘Waya’s boy-toy’? “Hey,” he said, his face turning serious without his noticing it, “Waya… Are you seeing Isumi- _kun_?”

If Waya kept up with this, he’d never get the chance to breath. “W-what?! How—how’d you know about that?!”

“Something Shindou said. How do you know… How do you know how you feel about him? I mean, that you like him? How are you able to understand your feelings?”

While Saeki was talking, Waya’s face had shifted from nervous and fearful to glowing. He smiled softly, a private smile that made Saeki feel distinctly uncomfortable. “I guess I don’t really _understand_ my feelings, not completely, but… how else can you define this warmth and affection and nervousness and excitement and—” Waya abruptly remembered himself and ended with a sheepish, “stuff.”

“So you just wing it?” Saeki was not impressed. He instinctively felt that there should be a clear plan to follow, along with time-honoured precedents and a _sensei_ around to pull apart all of the past decisions and point out where everything went wrong. ‘Winging it’ was what amateurs did.

“Uh… Sort of. Was there anything else? Isumi- _san_ is picking me up for dinner…”

“No… Thanks, Waya. Have fun.”

Waya laughed. “Of course!”

As he watched Waya skip away, Saeki thought, ‘How unbelievably unhelpful.” Still… Maybe it was true that not everything needed to have a name to be real. The mere idea of this had relief coursing through Saeki’s entire body.

Saeki glanced at the time and cursed, before quickly tying the last loop on his shoe and hurrying out. After all… _he_ had a date to get to, too.

\--

_Saeki lost his game against Ashiwara in the title matches, but hey—he played one hell of a game._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end. Thanks for reading!


End file.
